


Obsession

by literati42



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dysfunctional Family, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt, whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2020-12-28 02:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21129434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literati42/pseuds/literati42
Summary: Someone knows who Malcolm Bright really is, and that someone is definitely not a friend.Or one in which Malcolm may have a stalker, whump is plentiful, and the team gets to do a little comfort to his many hurts.Originally for Whumptober 2019Note: Story contains spoilers through 1x13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Whumptober, for the prompt "laced drink" from the @whumptober2019 tumblr. 
> 
> As always, feel free to join me on twitter where I frequently talk about this show way, way too much @themytheofpsyche

Malcolm stood at the murder board, gesturing to the evidence, “Our suspect is a white, man.”

“Aren’t they always?” Dani said, raising her eyebrows.

“Well, you know, some prolific serial killers were women, who frequently escaped notice because of assumed ‘weakness’,” Malcolm said.

“Like Belle Gunness,” Edrisa said as she came in the doorway. Malcolm turned and flashed his smile at her, and she returned it with an even bigger one of her own.

“Exactly.”

“It was rhetorical, but I’m glad to hear misogyny even affects the criminally inclined,” Dani replied, tone dry.

Gil tried to suppress a smile, “The profile?”

Malcolm glanced to him and then focused back on the board, “As I was saying…” He watched the board swim. “Um…” He pointed toward a picture, but suddenly it would not stay still. He closed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes. Everything seemed normal again. “The suspect…” The swirling began again. Suddenly the whole room seemed determined not to stay still.

“Bright?” Gil said. His voice sounded distorted.

“I…”

“Mr. Bright,” Edrisa’s voice was sharp, urgent.

Malcolm looked down at the cup in his hand, watching it fall from his fingers. It was handed to him by one of the officers as he came in. He did not know how they knew his order, but he assumed Gil had something to do with it. It floated in and out of his vision as he looked at the cup sleeve.

Malcolm Whitly was written there in bright red sprawl.

“Ketamine.…” he said, and then everything went dark.


	2. The Argument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! Chapter 2. It's my favorite I've written so far. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> ****I am taking Prodigal Son fic requests! Feel free to drop them in my comments**
> 
> And as always, follow me on twitter @themythofpsyche where, no big deal, but Lou Diamond Phillips may have recently liked one of my Prodigal Son tweets!

Gil loved watching his kids work. He could not help but see it that way when Malcolm was there working with—and annoying—JT and Dani. They were all brilliant, capable, and good people that all had come to mean so much to him. So, even when the cases were gruesome, there were often moments he would stand back with his cup of coffee and just watch them work. Malcolm was describing the profile, Dani was commenting, and JT was looking annoyed. Everything was exactly the way he wanted it.

Edrisa came in with her report, adding to Malcolm’s unwarranted tangent about women serial killers. She said something that probably meant something to Bright but was lost on Gil. What was not lost on him was how she lit up when she made Bright proud. It was obvious how much she was smitten with Malcolm. That is to say, it was obvious to Gil, Dani, JT, the entire police force, and people in outer space that she was in love with Malcolm. The object of her affection, however, was completely and utterly unaware of it. He was just delighted to be so openly liked. His surprise and pleasure at her affection always made Gil feel a little sad. Malcolm Bright was an acquired taste, and he was well aware of how frequently people disliked him. It made Gil’s protective father instincts flare-up. There was so much to love about Malcolm, but most people were too weirded out to ever get close enough to see it.

Gil briefly butted in to get his ‘kids’ back on track, “The profile?”

“As I was saying…Um…The suspect…”

Gil stepped forward, brow furrowed. The kid seemed suddenly unsteady. His hand movements, always big and dramatic, became looser. When Gil got close, he noticed Malcolm’s eyes going in and out of focus. “Bright?”

The profiler looked at him and then slowly lowered his eyes to the cup just as his hand seemed to refuse to hold it any longer. It fell to the floor, splashing coffee around like blood splatter, and a second later, Malcolm uttered, “Ketamine,” and fell. Gil lunged forward and caught him before he could end up on the floor with the coffee.

He felt Malcolm shift in his arms and look up at him, his eyes wide. “My body’s not attached…” he said, his words slurred. Gil was aware of a flurry of movement around them, but he focused on maneuvering the man into his office, getting him sitting on the couch. Malcolm was clearly trying to help, but his movements were fluid, unorganized.

“Bright? Bright?” Gil said, kneeling in front of him.

“Have you always been blurry?” he asked, reaching to grip Gil’s shoulder and missing it by several inches.

“Dani, call an ambulance.”

“No, Gil. No hospitals,” Malcolm practically whined. “Ketamine is a party drug. I’ll come down and be fine.”

“With all the medication you’re on? We don’t know what interactions you could have,” Gil said, “And you are just guessing it’s ketamine.”

“Edrisa,” Malcolm said, “You’re a doctor.”

Her eyes were wide, “If…um…if you are on medication, and we don’t know what it is or how much you just took…you need a hospital. I’m sorry, Mr. Bright.”

“The ambulance is on the way,” Dani said.

Malcolm closed his eyes, leaning back against the couch. “Bright, eyes open, kid.” He gently patted his cheek until Bright looked back up. “Where did you get the cup?”

He shook his head, looking distant. “I don’t know. Some guy.”

“You drank something handed to you by some guy?” JT said.

“I thought he was a cop.”

“Did you see a uniform?” Dani pushed.

“I don’t know…I wasn’t paying attention.”

Gil pointed at JT. “Find out where that cup came from.” He looked at the doctor. “Dr. Tanaka, I need you to test what was in it.” Both of them were off at once. “Bright? Bright?” He shook the kid’s shoulder. “Bright?”

“Gil,” Dani said, coming in. The profiler’s body gave a violent jerk. Gil held the man, who was in every way but technically his son, through the seizure until the EMT’s came to take him away.

_-_-_

The next day, Gil was in his office standing by the window, brow furrowed in thought.

A light knock sounded on the doorframe. “So, any progress?”

Gil whipped around to find Bright leaning on the door wearing the same clothes from yesterday and looking more like death than usual. “Bright,” he said, rushing to him and grabbing hold of the profiler. He looked him up and down. “What are you doing here?”

“It was just ketamine,” he said, “I told you I’d come down from it.”

“You had a seizure on the floor of this office.”

“Well, there was a drug interaction, but I’m fine. I’ve been released.”

“You’ve been released by a doctor, or you released yourself against medical advice?”

“We don’t need to go into the details.”

“Bright,” Gil hissed. Then he sighed, feeling the exhaustion deep in his bones. “At least sit-down.” Malcolm did slowly. He seemed to barely be able to hold himself up, shifting awkwardly to try and mask the weakness.

“Gil, where are we with everything?”

“No one has any idea who gave you the coffee, and it using your real name.” Gil shook his head. “Other than Dani and JT, have you told anyone else at the station?”

“No, I don’t exactly broadcast it,” he replied. Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck.

“You were right about the drug, it was ketamine. The same dose your father used. That with your name on the sleeve…”

Malcolm’s hands began to shake, and he gripped them together. “It’s a message.”

“No, no. You are not profiling your own case. You need to go home and rest.”

“Considering someone out there is targeting me, I don’t think I’ll be getting a lot of rest right now.”

Gil squeezed his shoulder, “Bright, kid. You should know, they called someone in on this one.”

“Called someone in?” he repeated, “They? What are you talking about.”

“The higher-ups,” Gil said, “They called in…an FBI profiler.”

“What?” Malcolm got up, then swayed on his feet. Gil stood and caught his arm. “What?” the kid replied.

“I know, but it’s out of my hands. You were drugged in the precinct in front of the entire squad, possibly by someone in uniform. It’s bad and it looks bad on us. I had to calm them down to convince them to only bringing in a profiler.”

Malcolm shook his hand off. “Who did they call?”

Gil nodded to the conference room, but before he could even voice his answer, the kid was marching out the door and over to the other room. He followed behind.

_-_-_

When Malcolm woke up that morning, he was furious that he had to spend another night trapped in his own head with the imprint of his father on his psyche because he could not even go down a “k-hole” like a normal clubber without falling nearly into a medically induced coma. The nurse looked horrified when he said he was checking himself out. Though probably not as horrified as Ainsley would when she undoubtedly showed up at the hospital to collect him only to find him already gone. He sighed, sending her a quick text to apologize and swear he was totally fine.

Somebody was targeting him because of his father. He needed to get a handle on this situation right away. That was the worst part for him, the not knowing, the not having facts to put together into a profile. He had no stats to annoy JT with, no theories, no relevant experience. Someone targeted him in the most dangerous way possible, with witnesses who were cops, but that someone still got away without leaving a single trail to follow.

He was angry, his head was throbbing, he was exhausted, and now on top of all that, Gil was telling him that one of his old co-workers was in the next room about to tear his life apart to find his attacker.

He threw open the door. Dani was standing by the board, and JT was sitting at the table with the room’s other occupant. The newcomer stood and turned. “Malcolm!” he said. He was tall and blonde with a smile that stretched a little too wide. “You’re consulting with the NYPD? I told you you’d land on your feet.” He stepped forward, looking Malcolm up and down. “You look awful. Should you be out of the hospital?”

Malcolm clenched his fist. “Save it, Rainer. Did you forget I’m a profiler too? I can see through your niceties.”

Malcolm heard Gil step in behind him and shut the door.

The agent lowered his hand, “I was hoping we could do this without the hostility.”

“And if I knew you were going to be working this case, I would have gone home and done something I preferred to do over seeing you, like shoving hot needles into my eyes through the lids.”

“Bright,” Gil said, stepping forward.

Rainer raised his hand, “No. Let him rant, let him rage. He’s had a hard day.”

“Don’t patronize me, Rainer,” Malcolm replied.

“Be mad at me if you want,” the agent said, “But don’t forget, I was the one who tried to protect you. I tried to save you. If you’d just obeyed my orders, you would still be a profiler.”

“You mean if I’d obeyed you when you told me to lie?”

“When I told you to be smart!” Rainer stepped up into his face. Malcolm saw JT stand up in his periphery. Rainer let out a breath and took a step back, running a hand through his hair. His tone was calmer when he said, “Smart people know when to fold. It’s not my fault you never know when to let things go.”

“Who is this guy, Bright?” Dani asked, her tone hard.

“My mentor at the FBI,” Malcolm said, “The man who trained me and then stabbed me in the back.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Malcolm.”

“No go ahead, Rainer. Why don’t you show them who you really are?”

“Whatever you believe I did…”

“You told the board that I was a narcissist with psychopathic tendencies…like my father.”

“Is that what they said to you?” Rainer asked.

“Don’t play innocent.”

“That’s not the profile I gave them.”

“What did you tell them then?” 

“The truth.” He shook his head, “I’m here to help you with this case, to keep you safe. We don’t have to do this.”

“It’s a little late to pretend you care about me,” Bright said, his tone a snap. “What did you tell them?”

“The truth we both know,” he replied.

“Say it.”

Rainer threw up his hands, frustration radiating off him. “I told them that punching that sheriff, losing your job was one more stunt in a long line of self-defeating, masochistic attempts to cause yourself pain by proxy.” He shook his head, “Face it, Malcolm, you love tragedy because you think it’s the only thing you deserve.”

“Yeah?” Malcolm bite.

“Enough,” Gil said, growling, but Malcolm moved passed him to get back in the agent’s face.

“And what about your profile?” He hissed at Rainer, “You are a snake in the grass who betrayed everyone who has ever trusted you.”

“I always told you, if you want to be a profiler, you can’t trust anyone.”

“Yeah? I didn’t know that included you.” 

“What did you want me to do, Malcolm?” Rainer sighed, “Let you set my career on fire along with yours?”

“What I wanted was you to tell them the truth. You knew I was right.”

“I doesn’t matter that you were right,” Rainer replied. He stepped away again. “At the end of the day,” he said, tone quieter now. “You had more sympathy for a killer than a cop.”

“At least I didn’t let a murderer go free so I could get a promotion.”

“And how many more murderers would you have put away if you hadn’t gotten yourself fired?”

After everything the man had said, it was that one that felt like a blow.

“I said, enough.” Gil stepped between them, putting a hand on Malcolm’s arm and glaring at the agent.

“Bastard,” Malcolm said it as a whisper to Rainer, before glancing at Gil and jerking free of his grip. He stormed out of the door.

Gil glanced after him to track his movements, then turned back to the agent. “You and I are going to talk,” Gil said, pointing at Rainer, his eyes dark, he began to go after Malcolm, but JT was already moving. JT shouldered by the agent roughly on his way after Malcolm, Gil pointed at Dani, then at the agent. “Stay with him,” he said, then followed after JT and Malcolm.

He tracked them to the stairwell where he found Malcolm sitting on the steps halfway down. JT walked down until he passed him and then turned around to look at the profiler.

“Did you storm out and lose your steam halfway down?” JT asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, well. You can’t slam an elevator door,” Malcolm replied, “But it turns out, I haven’t gotten all my energy back.”

“Yeah,” JT replied.

“Kid, you alright?” Gil asked. He lowered himself to the step beside Malcolm, feeling his knees creak. He saw Malcolm’s hand shaking and reached over, squeezing the back of the kid’s neck.

“Yeah, I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I will be talking to him. He doesn’t get to disrespect a member of my team like that, no matter who he is.” Gil sighed, “I should have stepped in sooner.”

Malcolm shook his head, “I told you years ago, you can’t fight all my battles.” Gil patted his shoulder.

“I can’t leave yet, I need to handle this. JT, take him home?”

The detective nodded.

“Stay with him. I’ll relieve you as soon as I can.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“No, you need a police detail. You’re still a target.”

“Any chance our guy up there is the one that poisoned you?” JT asked. Malcolm gave half a smile.

“I wish it were that simple. No, Rainer is not a killer. And if he was going to kill someone, he would never get his hands dirty. It would be clean and quick and through back channels. He wouldn’t bother with head games.” He shook his head, “And he has no desire to be associated in any way with my father. The name on the sleeve and the ketamine suggest this does.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Gil said, “I better get back and make sure Dani hasn’t killed him. I’ll be by as soon as I can, and we’ll talk.”

Malcolm gave a tight nod. JT did not help him up, but he also did not move as he got up. It was subtle, and Gil assumed Malcolm did not even notice, but JT’s position would have blocked Malcolm if his strength gave out and he fell. The two of them could be tense every day, but in the end, JT was showing all the nonverbal signs that he saw Malcolm as part of his team. Having a pigheaded federal agent show up and insult him was definitely a good way to reveal how protective JT had already become of their profiler. Gil knew that JT would keep Malcolm safe.

_-_-_

“So,” JT said as they drove toward Malcolm’s place. “What is he?”

“What?” Malcolm asked.

“Agent dude,” JT said, “You’re dying to tell me his profile. What is he? Narcissist? Sadist? Mommy complex?”

“Ah,” Malcolm said, “Actually, there is a really technical word for what he is.”

“Hm?”

Malcolm turned to look at JT and smiled, “An asshole.”

JT snorted a laugh.

Malcolm leaned his head back on the chair and they rode the rest of the way in silence. He dug out his keys when they parked and began shifting with them as he approached the door and leaned his hand against it. It pushed open under his touch.

Malcolm paled, “Detective…”

JT pulled his gun, pushing Malcolm behind him, and walking up the stairs. He looked around at the top, but nothing obvious was wrong.

“Sunshine?” Malcolm said, voice tense and quiet. A tiny yellow bird gave an answering chirp from the cage to JT’s right. “You’re alright,” Malcolm said to himself, sounding less tense.

“Stick with me,” JT said, as he began approaching the bedroom. “You need to tell me what is your brand of weird and what is actually out of place.” JT paused beside the bed.

“The restraints are always there,” Malcolm offered.

“Okay,” JT said, in a tone that said he wanted no further details. They made their way through the apartment, checking every room and closet. No one was there and nothing was out of place. They finally rounded back to the kitchen and JT nodded, heading down to check the door.

Malcolm hesitated. He missed it at first, looking for an attacker he had not seen the seemingly innocuous package on the kitchen counter. But there was no package when he left the day before. While JT was distracted examining the door to see how they broke in, Malcolm approached it slowly.

Malcolm Whitly, it read on the label.

“They didn’t force their way in,” JT said coming back up the stairs. “Bright…no!”

Malcolm pulled back the tape on the package, letting it come open. 


	3. Blood on My Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (CW: Talk of past suicide attempts in this chapter.)
> 
> Hello everyone! I am back with a new update! I literally laughed when both a mysterious box getting delivered to Malcolm AND the FBI former co-workers getting called in happened in the last episode shortly after I posted a chapter including those elements. Such fun! So obviously my story is now cannon divergent, but still closely tied to cannon.
> 
> Also! I am as always chatting about Malcolm and our other Prodigal Son friends on twitter @themythofpsyche
> 
> Finally ******I am still taking requests!!!*****

**Chapter 3**

Malcolm was covered in blood. His hands shook as he raised them, staring at the bright red. It was everywhere. It was everywhere.

_-_-_

Gil stared across the table at agent Rainer, a man probably just a few years younger than him. Before Gil could start the man leaned forward, “I heard a lot about you, Detective Arroyo, from Malcolm.”

“Bright used to talk about you also,” Gil said, “Until he stopped bringing you up. Right around the time he was fired.”

Rainer nodded. “He blamed me,” he said, “Fair enough. I didn’t get him fired, but I did agree. Malcolm Bright does not need to be a profiler. He doesn’t need to do any job that allows him to hurt himself.” He raised an eyebrow. It was a challenge. “Anyone who doesn’t see that is just an enabler.”

Gil felt anger rush through him. “I will tell you the same thing I told his mother. He’s an adult. This job is what he wants.”

“A job he’d have a lot harder time doing if you didn’t continually support his bad habits,” Rainer replied. Gil steepled his hands and leaned forward.

“Look, you’ve known him for what? A few years? I’ve known Malcolm Bright since he was a child. So don’t presume you know better than me what he needs. You berating him, disrespecting him in front of the team? You didn’t do that for his own good. I don’t care what your history is with him, while you are working with my team you will respect them. All of them.”

“Understood,” Rainer said, standing, buttoning his jacket. “Now, Detective Arroyo. I have work to do.”

As he walked out the door, a hand caught it before he could slam shut. Dani looked in. “You alright, boss?” she asked, coming in. Gil rubbed his beard.

“Yeah.” He nodded, “The agent is an asshole.”

“Undeniably,” she replied, her tone still flat. Gil looked up.

“What?”

She shook her head, lips pursed.

“Dani. When I brought you onto the team, what did you promise me?”

Dani met his eyes. “That I was always going to tell you the truth, even if you didn’t want to hear it. It was more of a threat than a promise, Gil”

“So, tell me the truth you think I don’t want to hear.”

“Agent Rainer has an ego a mile wide, he’s an asshole and that whole thing was uncalled for, but,” Dani said, looking into her mentor’s eyes. “Is he right?”

“Is he right?” Gil repeated.

“Look, I’ve listened to a lot of profiles since Bright started here, and the one he said…the stuff about Bright. It didn’t sound wrong.”

Gil wanted to stay angry, but looking into Dani’s eyes he found only concern there. Concern for him, but he knew, concern for Bright too. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the tension there. “Are you asking me if I shouldn’t have hired Bright or if Bright is self-destructive and out to cause himself pain?”

She waved her hand slightly.

“I don’t know if Bright’s a masochist, I don’t even pretend to know how to know that,” Gil said. He let out a sigh that belied how tired he was. “But, the kid has a tendency for hurting himself. In the past, it was lot more direct than it is now.”

Dani lowered herself into a chair. “He tried to kill himself?”

“A few times,” Gil replied, quietly. “When he was a teenager. But, he changed. He started therapy, got on the right meds, and discovered he could channel that brain of his into solving murders. Putting bad guys away.” Gil shook his head, “I know, he can be reckless. And he takes unnecessary risks, but this work, gives him purpose. A Malcolm Bright without purpose is a lot more dangerous to himself than anything on this job.” He shook his head, “And I can’t ever see him like that again.”

“So when he lost the FBI job, you brought him in…”

“He’s good at the job, Dani. He makes our team stronger. But believe me, every time he gets hurt. Every time he throws himself in front of a snake or a bullet, it’s on me. And I have to live with that. But I still believe he’s better off here than anywhere else.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I trust you,” Dani said, “But I needed to know you knew why you did this.” She stood, but before she could say more, her phone rang. “JT?” Her eyes widened, meeting Gil’s with panic.

_-_-_

The blood was all over Bright, covering him, splattering his clothes, his skin that seemed to be paling by the second. JT had his gun out instinctively, wishing there was something to shoot, as he looked the profiler up and down. The box fell to the floor. Bright was shaking, but otherwise frozen where he stood. “Bright?” he said, taking a step closer. His eyes struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. “Bright?” He holstered his gun and reached out, grabbing the profiler’s shoulder.

“Blood on my hands,” Malcolm said, his voice a shaky whisper.

“Yeah, and on everything else too,” JT said. “Do you think it’s real?”

“It smells real,” Bright said, still seeming fully disconnected from his words.

“Of course your creepy ass would know that,” JT replied, “Are you hurt?”

“Blood,” he said again.

“Bright, is any of the blood yours?” JT tried looking him up and down, but he was so covered it was impossible to tell. He grabbed his phone, calling for back up and an ambulance. Then he called Dani. “Get here now. Bright opened a box from his stalker. It exploded some sort of…blood packet on him. He says it smells real.”

“Is he hurt?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” As he said the words he saw Malcolm’s legs buckle. He dropped the phone and caught the profiler.

_-_-_

Gil got out of the car and strode to the ambulance practically before Dani stopped driving. Malcolm sat on at the edge of the ambulance, a shock blanket wrapped around him. Some of the blood seemed to have been hastily wiped off his face, but there was still a lot everywhere. “Bright? Kid?” he cupped the back of his neck, but the profiler did not respond. His eyes searched and found JT talking to the EMTs. He caught the younger detective’s eye and JT came walking over to them.

“He’s not hurt,” JT said, “They said shock. He had a panic attack.” Gil looked at the wide, wild eyes of his kid.

“Blood, on my hands,” Bright said, voice halting.

“We’ll get you cleaned up,” Gil said. Bright’s hand caught his wrist, his grip surprisingly tight for how shaky he looked.

“No. Blood on my hands, the note on the box,” he said. “It said, ‘there’s blood on your hands.”

Gil squeezed the back of his neck. “We’ll figure it out, kid. Come on. I’ll get Sunshine. You’re staying with me until this is over. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

_-_-_

Gil hung up the phone as Malcolm walked in, Gil’s sweatpants and hoodie hanging awkwardly on his skinny frame. He was clean of blood now, though Gil noticed a bit under his nails. Was he trying to scrape it off himself? He let himself dismiss the thought, for now. “They’re still sweeping your place but so far there’s no evidence of anything else being tampered with or changed. I did call in your prescriptions so you can get new ones, in case he did something with those.”

Malcolm gave the barest nod and walked over, sinking into the couch like he had a million times over the last twenty years. Gil swiveled in his chair to look at the kid. “You alright, Bright?”

“I keep thinking, what did he mean?” Bright said, staring at the carpet as if it could yield up some answers. Other than the brief words at the ambulance, the kid had been silent as they headed to Gil’s place.

“What did who mean, Bright?”

“The message. Blood on my hands.” He shook his head, “Is this…is this about the girl in the box? Or the missing time?” he finally met Gil’s eyes and the desperation there was enough to seize the detective’s heart. “Or maybe he agrees with Rainer. That getting myself fired from the FBI means the people I could have caught went free?”

“Bright, you immediately started catching murderers with us,” Gil replied. “Kid. Even if you quit all of this tomorrow, the people who killers out there murder would not be on your hands.”

“If I have the ability to save people and choose not to…”

“Bright, you are doing good work that matters, but you do not owe your life or your health to anyone. For any reason.”

“So what did it mean then?”

“Whoever this is is getting inside your head. It’s what he wants and it’s what he’s doing. These attacks, Rainer showing up, and all that’s happened with your father before this. It’s all getting to you. I promise you, we are going to figure this out.” He squeezed Malcolm’s neck gently. “We will figure this out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm Bright in my story and in the show demonstrates suicidal behaviors (and in this story has past attempts). If you or anyone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, go to the National Suicide Lifeline website:  
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  
They have a 24/7 help line to call, a number to text, and information on suicide. You can also learn more at the National Institute of Mental Health's pages on Depression  
https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/depression/index.shtml  
And PTSD  
https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/index.shtml  
Both of which Malcolm likely has


	4. Did You Miss Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! That was a dreadfully long surprise hiatus but the story is up and going again. There is a bit of an explanation for those curious about the process at the end notes.
> 
> Warning: this chapter contains spoilers through ep 1x13
> 
> As always, feel free to join me on twitter @themythofpsyche
> 
> and remember *****I am taking requests***

Malcolm pressed his shaking hand to the morgue door and hesitated. He told Gil that he needed to talk to the ME about the drug-laced tea and the blood packet box as soon as they arrived at the precinct. Gil quietly asked if he was actually avoiding Rainer. This time, Gil did not have it right. This was about avoidance, but not the kind Gil assumed. 

Malcolm could see Edrisa framed by the tiny door window, pressing a scalpel to a body, her brow furrowed in concentration. He took a breath and pushed the door open. Her eyes lifted immediately. She put down the tool and began tugging off her gloves and mask, “Mr. Bright!” 

“Edrisa…Dr. Tanaka.” He let the door shut behind him but made no steps closer. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked. Her eyes were full of genuine concern. 

“I’m alright,” he said, shifting his weight and studying her. Here it was, the thing he was avoiding, but he knew he could not avoid her forever. There were only a handful of people he considered friends in this life, and he felt a dogged desire to hold on to the ones he had. 

“Did you come about the case, or are you just here for my dazzling company?” she said, with the smile he was so used to seeing when she arrived at crime scenes. 

“Dr. Tanaka, you don’t have to pretend.” 

“Pretend?” she asked. He studied her expression and saw only genuine confusion. 

“The name on the cup sleeve, the ketamine, the box…I know you’ve figured out who I really am.” 

“Who you really are?” she said again, her confusion seeming to deepen. 

“That I’m Malcolm Whitly,” he said. 

She blinked for a second, then clarity came across her features. “Oh! Mr. Bright, you think I just found out.” 

“Wait, didn’t you?” 

“No, I already knew,” she replied. 

“Since when?” 

“Since the first case you worked with us,” Edrisa replied. “I knew a lot about the Surgeon case and well…it didn’t take much to connect you.” 

Malcolm leaned back against the unoccupied morgue table. “You knew this whole time? But you never changed how you acted toward me. You never let on.” 

“What was there to let on?” Edrisa replied, tilitng her head to the side. 

“You’re the only one who doesn’t treat me differently. I mean, at first JT acted like I was this weird specimen he needed to question, and Dani acted like I was fragile. They don’t now mostly, but…you never did. You treated me the same since the minute we met.” 

She gave her characteristic giggle, “Well, you are the same person I met. I just know more about you.” And she said it with such confidence, as if it was obvious. Malcolm gave her a smile. 

“Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Mr. Bright.” She awkwardly swatted his arm, and then let her hand fall away. Malcolm made a note that he would have to take her up on the puzzle soon. She may not feel like she needed thanking, but he did. 

“Want to hear about ketamine?” she asked. 

“I would like nothing better,” he replied. 

_-_-_ 

Gil watched Bright enter the conference room and take a seat at the table. He walked over and squeezed squeezed Malcolm’s shoulder, “We’ll solve this, Bright. Don’t worry.”

And then came Watkins.

Then came phone calls in a dark basement murder room, bodies in junkyards, and hospital near misses. Then came Swanson to replace Rainer, a creepy old lady singing hymns, and Watkins.

Basements and blades and memories that no one ever wanted to come back.

Once Malcolm rescued himself from Watkin’s clutches, it made sense to dismiss the earliest events—the ketamine laced tea and the exploding blood packet—as part of Watkin’s desire to unsettle him. No one knew Martin and hated Malcolm like Watkins did. It made sense to everyone, except of course, Bright.

Something about the early events stayed with him, but there were other cases, and an internal affairs investigation to fake. There were pressing deadlines and a fragile, shaky sense of mental health to maintain.

But the idea that he was missing something stayed forever at the back of Bright’s mind.

It just did not make sense for Watkins, a man already in the process of committing serial murder, to go backward in his development to behaviors that, while unsettling, amounted to nothing more than stalking.

“I have a stalker,” Malcolm said to Gil. His father figure sighed.

“A new one?” he asked.

“No, an old one.”

“The tea thing?” Gil asked, and when Malcolm nodded, he sighed. “That’s a relief.”  
“How is that a relief?”

“Because it would be just your luck to have acquired another stalker.”

Malcolm frowned, “I don’t know how I feel about that reputation.”

Gil walked over and squeezed his shoulder, “It was Watkins,” he said, and Malcolm felt frustration mounting. He could sense the same conversation starting up again for what felt like the millionth time. “I know, I know,” Gil held up his hand. “But Bright, the problems stopped when we caught Watkins.” It was the same refrain he always got from Gil, or from Dani or JT when he brought it up. After all, Watkins showed up at the police station the day of the ill-fated dark tunnel, so it was not a stretch he could have showed up before and given an office the tea for Malcolm. He used a package to send the priest’s hand to Malcolm, so it was no stretch that he could have sent the blood packet box also.

There it rested, a nagging at the back of Malcolm’s brain with no leads and no one else believing the problem was even real.

Until the message arrived.

Officer Ramirez began doing the mail rounds, while Bright focused on building a profile for their newest case. He glanced over in confusion when he saw the office leave something on the table behind him. He frowned and lifted a postcard with a picture of a bridge not far from his childhood home. On it someone simply wrote:

To Malcolm Whitly,

Did you miss me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! The long absence on this story: when the show hit with its big twists during the Watkins storyline, the things like the box and the FBI and the person obsessed with Malcolm who was connected with Martin were a BIT too similar to this story which I started writing well before any of that happened. I found myself torn. While I could have kept going with my original plan, I couldn't bring myself to avoid mentioning the similarities in the stories but also! I didn't want to lose or retread all the incredible character development that's happened in the show! So...the current direction is a bit of a mixture. Don't worry, the originally planned story is still here, but I've woven in the current continuity as well, and with that decision the muses are unleashed!


End file.
